


Baby Driver

by MoonPuppy



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2014-11-28
Packaged: 2018-02-27 07:34:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2684564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonPuppy/pseuds/MoonPuppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair really did drive truck. A/U. Modern Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby Driver

**Author's Note:**

> Notes 1: I'm playing fast and loose with canon in this one, so consider it an A.U. I know Blair started college at 16, and I know that you have to be 21 years old to have a C.D.L. (Commercial Driver's License) and be able to legally drive a semi tractor and trailer (something that canon seems to have forgotten), but, while I like reading underage Blair/older Jim stories, I can't, in this instance, make myself write it. One thing I did keep to canon on was the age difference. Jim was born in 1962 (see Nightowl's site, Jim's I.D.) and Blair was born in 1969 (Three Point Shot). Forgive me and read on or go away.   
> Notes 2: The title is stolen from Simon and Garfunkel and was inspired both by the episode "Spare Parts" and real life.   
> Notes 3: Grateful thanks for the super-fast and insightful beta by Shar. You're a dream, lady! Good changes are hers, all mistakes are mine.   
> Notes 4: Originally published in Whispers of the Heart III by AngelWings Press in August 2000. 
> 
> Warning 1: Almost underage m/m lust and sex. Carolyn abuse. Of course it's rated NC-17.   
> Warning 2: Never use fresh or frozen pineapple in Jell-O.

_They call me baby driver,_   
_And once upon a set of wheels,_   
_Hit the road and I'm gone,_   
_What's my number?_   
_Tell me how your engine feels (bah, bah, bah, bah),_   
_Scoot down the road,_   
_What's my number?_   
_Tell me how your engine feels._

 

Blair Sandburg pushed the clutch in, shifted down and tiredly released the pedal once again, as he slowed his rig down, carefully pulling into the interstate rest stop. He'd been driving since 6 a.m. this morning and not only had he reached the end of the hours he was allowed to drive during this twelve hour period, he suspected he was at the limit of the miles he was allowed before a required twenty-four hour rest period.

Yawning, he downshifted once again, braked, and pulled the semi and its trailer into one of the long pull-throughs marked for rigs such as his. Stopping completely, he pulled his log book out and entered today's hours and miles. Sure enough, he was stuck in this rest stop for twenty-four hours before he could legally hit the road again.

Turning the rig off, he yawned again and stretched as best he could while still seated. Driving a semi for his uncle filled his wallet with money for college, as well as filling his need for travel that he'd inherited from his mother, Naomi. And this was the last summer he'd be able to do this because he'd been accepted into Rainier University's anthropology program. He figured he'd get his B.A. in three years - four if he got onto any good field studies, then get his M.A. two years after that, another year for his Ph.D. and he'd be teaching and leading expeditions by the time he was twenty-four, twenty-five at the latest. Then he could really dedicate himself to his true driving passion - Tribal Sentinels - something that had held him in its thrall since he'd found a lost monograph on Sentinels by Sir Richard Burton (the explorer, not the actor) when he was twelve years old. Now, a mere six years later, he had his future planned out and was about to embark on his life's greatest dream - to find a modern day sentinel.

Climbing down out of the cab, he locked the door and stretched again. A trip to the restroom to use the facilities and a quick rinse-off and he planned on crawling into his bunk for eight solid hours of well-deserved rest. That plan was changed when he exited the restrooms and heard some of the most colorful cursing he'd ever heard coming from the engine compartment of a sleek black and gold sports car parked directly in front of the men's room door. The cursing simmered down to repeated mutterings of "you sorry son of a bitch", and "Cully, I'm gonna fucking kill you", which drew Blair's feet over to the car.

Knowing that saying anything would bring the car's owner's head into contact with the engine hood, Blair settled for clearing his throat. "Ah, hem."

"Whaddya want?" Was his snarled reply.

"Anything I can give you a hand with?" He asked, then grimaced. His voice came out high and almost cracked.

"Not unless you can pull a 1972 MG engine outta your back pocket, kid," was his only reply. The muffled cursing continued, but not addressed at him.

_'Go away kid, you bother me.'_ The words from an old W.C. Fields movie echoed through Blair's brain. He hadn't been called kid to his face since he started shaving - seriously - when he was fourteen. Puberty had hit him early and hard. Unmindful that he couldn't be seen by the man he was addressing, he shrugged and replied, "Can't help you there, but I am a pretty good hand with a wrench."

An exasperated sigh came out of the engine compartment followed by the car's owner. "Look kid," Jim Ellison started to say, then stopped at the sight greeting him. Heaven in torn blue jeans and ragged shirt was standing not ten feet from him. A teenager from his size and voice, but not by his build. A young man, not over 5'8" tall, well muscled, tan, with long curly hair hanging below his shoulders, blazing blue eyes, wearing tight jeans and a tank top that emphasized his musculature and the hairiness of his chest, not to mention the five o'clock shadow that shaded the man's jaw, was looking with keen interest at Jim and his car, hands on hips, waiting for him to speak. Jim shook his head trying to get his derailed thoughts back on track. "I blew a rod and holed the case. All a wrench is gonna get is your hands dirty. I need to get this thing to a garage with parts and a machine shop." Jim paused to wipe his forehead off with his arm. "This pretty well fucks up my leave."

Blair's hearing went off-line when Jim's head appeared in his view. _Oh my,_ was the only thought that circled his brain as the man straightened up, bring his upper body into view. A tall man, over 6 feet, with light brown hair, cut military short, sky-blue eyes in a very well put together face, topped a body whose chest defined "cut", even in the skin tight olive drab T-shirt the man was currently wiping grease off his hands on to. The wide chest led down to narrow hips encased in dark blue denims that hugged every possible muscle in the thighs holding the body upright. Blair blinked and realized that his vision of nirvana was speaking to him. "I'm sorry, what'd you say?"

Jim grinned, making Blair's day even better, and repeated, "I said, 'this pretty well fucks up my leave.' My name's Jim. What's yours?"

"Blair," Blair replied, moving closer now that introductions had been made. Tearing his eyes off of Jim's chest, he peered into the engine compartment. "You sure you holed the case?"

Jim nodded, one eyebrow cocked, saying, "That pool of oil you're standing in seconds my opinion, Chief."

"Shit!" Blair exclaimed as he leapt backwards onto the sidewalk, then onto the bordering sandy area, wiping as much of the oil off as possible. "Why didn't you warn me, man?"

At Blair's outrage, Jim merely smirked, "Hey, I didn't ask for your help. Besides, what are you gonna do? Hook this thing up to your bicycle and tow it into town for me?"

Blair's outrage turned to anger at this stranger's obvious jab at his age. He smiled and said, "Well, as a matter of fact, I'd do better than that, if you weren't acting like such a jerk."

Jim didn't take offense, he knew his barb about the kid's age had hit home. He smiled back, saying, "What? Your mom and dad have a repair shop on the other side of the rest stop?" _Why was he taking such pot shots at this kid? No,_ he mentally corrected himself, _this young man. No kid's got that kind of fur and muscles. That's what's got you so hot and bothered, doesn't it, Ellison?_

Blair merely widened his smile and said, "Lemme show you my bicycle." He grabbed Jim by one wrist and led him around the restroom building and up to his rig. "My ride."

Jim took one look at the gleaming black and red semi-tractor, its attached sleeper cab, and its trailer load of new cars and barked out a laugh. "Right. And I'm Doris fucking Day."

Blair tugged the keys out of his pocket, reached up, unlocked the door, pulled it open and said, "Pleased to meet you, Doris," to Jim's astonished face.

Jim's eyes went back and forth from the truck to Blair, back to the open cab door, back to Blair, then he finally said, "You're riding with your folks, right? I mean, you can't be more than . . "

"Eighteen man, just turned last month. Been driving for my uncle for two years." To prove it, he pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and popped his license out to show Jim. "Here's my CDL."

Still in disbelief mode, Jim took the license and examined it. It had been issued in Arizona and listed Blair's birthday at June 30, 1969, his height at 5'7", his weight at 135, his eyes blue; oh yeah, they were blue all right, and his hair as brown; _such a dull word, brown; it mentioned nothing about the red and gold highlights_ , his residence as 1267 Midtown Road, Phoenix, Arizona and his name as Blair Jacob Sandburg. He turned the license over and it listed all the trailers the driver was allowed to pull; and every type of trailer Jim'd ever seen on the road was listed on the back including Hazardous Materials and Tankers.

Plucking his license back out of Jim's lax grip, Blair asked, smiling widely, "So, can my truck and I give you and your" he formed the word carefully, making it seem only slightly like an insult, "car . . . a lift into town? I just happen to have a parking space empty."

Jim's eyes traveled down the length of the car carrier and, sure enough, there was an empty spot on the lower rear of the trailer. His upbringing picked that moment to kick into full gear. Here was a kid _man!_ offering him and his broken vehicle a ride into town and all he could do was insult him. It wasn't the kid's _Blair. His name is Blair._ fault that Cully had taken his car out yesterday and done damage to the engine thereby ruining what was supposed to be Jim's last leave before he shipped out on an overseas mission. _Take a big bite of crow, Ellison, apologize for being so rude, accept his offer, and get on with life. Maybe you'll even get . . . No. Get away from that line of thought._ Abashed, Jim answered, "Um, sure. Thanks. Hey, I'm sorry about the comments I made earlier."

Blair waved off his apology, saying, "Hey, don't worry about it man. I run into this kinda problem all the time."

"Doesn't matter," Jim said. "It was rude. So," he continued, rubbing his hands together, "how do we get my car over here?"

Blair shrugged, "Probably by pushing it. We don't need to be in a great hurry, though. I'm stuck here until tomorrow afternoon."

Jim's hopes of getting his leave plans restarted were abruptly shattered. "What? Why?"

"DOT rules, man. I'm at my limit for hours and miles on the road. I'm in a mandatory down period. I can leave tomorrow at 6 p.m. No sooner."

"But isn't that just while you're working? I mean, you can drive during your off hours, right?"

Blair shook his head, his long curls brushing wonderfully over his bare shoulders. "No can do, man. My hours and miles are tracked by the state cops. If I get caught on the road over my limit I can lose my license - in a heartbeat. So I'm not taking any chances." Whatever hopes he had for a quickie (or more) with this friendly stranger were crushed at Jim's crestfallen face. His own face fell then. "Hey, man, don't let me ruin your leave. There's a phone over by the pop machine. You can call a tow truck and they can have you into the next town in under 20 minutes. Portland's just down the road. There's probably piles of MG engines sitting around just waiting for a sleek little body to go into."

Jim just nodded numbly. _Shit. Now what am I going to do? Spend all my leave in Portland getting the MG fixed?_ He looked over at Blair who was standing, looking dejected with his hands stuffed into the front pockets of his jeans _nice, tight, faded, worn jeans,_ one toe working at a small pothole in the parking lot, blue eyes downcast watching said toe. "Yeah, well, I guess I better go make a call."

Without looking up, Blair agreed, "Yeah, I guess so." He then looked up, a false smile plastered on his face. "It was nice meeting you, Jim. Have fun." He extended one hand out.

Jim took the warm, slightly callused hand, and shook it. "Nice meeting you too. See you around." His smile was equally false.

Blair pulled his hand free, climbed into the cab of his truck and shut the door behind him, leaving Jim no choice but to head for the phones.

Blair threw himself down onto his bunk, hard enough to jar his Walkman off its shelf and onto his head. "Ow!" He exclaimed, rubbing his head, then muttered, "Well, you sure fucked that one up, Sandburg. Great looking guy with time to play, and you're stuck in this parking lot. What did you expect? Him to give up leave time to play footsie with some kid when he's probably got some girl just waiting to run her hands over that gorgeous chest, and, oh, man, those shoulders, aw, fuck. I bet he's got an ass that'll put those shoulders to shame, him being military and all. Damn, what an opportunity. Now, you just calm down," he addressed his cock, which was showing a decided interest in finding out exactly how tight Jim's ass could be. He pressed his hand into his groin, trying to suppress his needs. It hadn't been that long since he'd gotten laid, anyway. Someplace outside Mitchell, South Dakota, he'd run into a hitchhiker who volunteered to pay his part of the gas with a blow job. Blair had protested that the guy didn't have to, but . . . what was his name . . . Peter, yeah, Peter, had insisted, then had blown not only Blair's cock, but his mind as well. Blair's cock resurged at that memory, and his hand began rubbing his groin in remembrance. Unfortunately, it wasn't Peter's tall, blond good looks that swam into focus as Blair rubbed his denim covered cock, it was Jim's, causing Blair to remove his hand and pound it against the wall of his cab. "Fuck," he muttered, "fuck, fuck, fuck." He rolled over onto his side, facing the wall, tucked his hands into his armpits, closed his eyes, and resolutely told himself to go to sleep, ignoring his cock's call for comfort.

~o0o0o~

Jim made it as far as digging through the phone book and calling and finding a garage that worked on MGs that had engine parts in stock. He even made it far enough to look up the number of a towing company and put the coin in the pay phone slot before staring at the handset emitting its dial-tone at him, before he hung up the phone and retrieved his coin.

What the hell am I doing? He chided himself as he watched his hand replace the quarter in his pocket. _Carolyn's expecting me at her place around midnight, and by midnight plus thirty I'll have her legs wrapped around me._

_Yeah, but,_ a nasty little voice in his head popped up, _play your cards right and you could have that little trucker's legs wrapped around you in under half an hour._

_Bullshit_ , he shot back to himself.

_No bullshit. You've done it before. You saw the way he looked at you. He'd do anything to get you in that cab with him._

_Bullshit to that too. He's just a nice guy trying to help someone else out._

_Oh, yeah? Then why aren't you calling Carolyn and telling her you're gonna be late because your car broke down? The voice asked snidely._

_All right, wise guy,_ Jim told himself, as he dug change out of his pocket, fed it into the phone and started dialing, _I'll show you._

Two rings and a voice answered, "Hello?"

"Hey, Caro. It's Jim."

"Jimmy, what's wrong? Are you still coming down?"

_Yeah, babe, but I'm gonna be late,_ was what he was going to say. What actually came out was, "Sorry, Caro, but the mission's been moved up." _Say what?_ his brain screamed as his mouth continued, "We're shipping out tonight. I don't know when we'll be back."

"Aw, Jimmy," came the unhappy response. "I'd planned all sorts of things for us to do while you were down here. You know, stuff for the wedding."

"Yeah, well, about the wedding," Jim's mouth bravely continued on, ignoring the screaming shouts of _**SHUT THE FUCK UP!**_ coming from his brain. "I'm not sure that it's such a great idea. I mean . . ." his voice trailed off as his brain temporarily regained control of his mouth.

"You mean what, Jimmy?" Carolyn's voice was low and icy on the other end of the phone line.

Jim cleared his throat and his mouth broke free once again. "I mean I don't think we should be considering marriage while I'm still in the military. Having a wife and dependents will hold me back from some areas of service I'm promoting towards."

"Bullshit," Carolyn cursed. "What you mean is that you're not willing to give up the boytoys you always chase after when you're off-base, don't you, Jimmy?"

The nasty little emphasis she gave his name, along with the fact that he hated to be called "Jimmy", aligned his brain with his mouth.

"What I mean is, this whole marriage thing was your idea and I never really wanted to have anything to do with it" he shot back savagely.

"What?" Carolyn sputtered.

"You asked me to marry you, remember? As drunk as I was that night, I don't recall if I agreed or not. I just took your word for it the next morning to shut you up."

"To shut me up . . ." Carolyn squealed before Jim cut her off.

"Yeah. I had a hangover that wouldn't quit and you wouldn't stop screeching until I agreed with you. So you can take this as my official answer. No. I do not wish to marry you Carolyn Plummer." Jim felt an incredible weight he wasn't even aware he was carrying lift from his shoulders.

"Jimmy . . . " the woman whined, realizing that her meal ticket was breaking free from her clutches.

"Oh, and one more thing. I hate being called Jimmy." Jim hung up the phone, leaned his head back, took and released a deep breath, blinked several times, and headed back over towards Blair's rig. When he arrived at the truck, he reached up and knocked, then began chuckling and shaking his head. Emblazoned for the whole world to see was the name "Baby Driver" painted in elegant script just above the door latch. He was still chuckling when the door opened and Blair's head stuck out, above his.

"Hey, Jim, thought you'd be long gone by now." He was amazed at his ability to maintain a calm exterior while his heart was pounding so hard he was sure the man he'd just been fantasizing about could hear it.

Jim's only answer was more laughing, his bright eyes dancing at Blair's confusion.

Blair smiled as he climbed down from the cab, liking the happy look on the man's face. "You wanna let me in on the joke?"

Jim only pointed at Blair, then at the door he was holding open. He couldn't stop laughing now.

Blair looked puzzled for a moment, glanced at the door, and began to turn red. "Oh. That."

Seeing Blair's embarrassment, Jim's laughter tapered off, enough so that he could speak. "I'm sorry. It just struck me as funny."

Blair grimaced, shaking his head. "Hey, you're not the only one, man. Ever since my uncle hung that handle on me," he shrugged, "let's just say my 'fight or flee' response has gotten real good."

Jim sobered, then stepped up to Blair - not quite into his personal space. "Oh? And which one gets a better work out? Fight? Or flee?"

Blair cocked an eyebrow at Jim, then stepped into **his** personal space. "Which one do you think?" He murmured, his dark blue eyes locked on Jim's ice blue ones.

Jim ran one finger down Blair's tightly muscled left arm and murmured, "Fight?"

Blair swallowed, seeing his intense desire mirrored in Jim's eyes, neither man denying the heat building between them. "Right on the first try." He shivered as Jim's hand moved from his arm to his shoulder - he was playing with just the ends of Blair's hair, brushing it away from his neck to . . . Blair stepped back and broke contact with Jim's wandering hand. "So why are you still here? I figured you'd be on your way to Portland by now."

Jim cleared his throat, suddenly aware of what his hand had been doing. "Yeah, well, I've got two weeks off. I figured I wasn't in all that big a hurry to spend it waiting in a garage, and . . ." at sudden loss of words, Jim shrugged.

"Doncha have a girl waiting for you at home, big guy? Someone who's gonna miss you when you don't turn up?"

_Not anymore I don't._ "Nah. I've never set my sights in that direction."

Blair's eyebrows rose into his bangs. "A special guy?"

Jim gave Blair a small grin. "Not until now."

Blair swore his pounding heart stopped at that moment. He swallowed again as Jim's hand returned to the back of his neck, cupping his head lightly.

"How 'bout you?" Jim asked softly, his heart pounding as hard as Blair's. "Which way do you swing?"

"Both ways, man," Blair answered, equally as soft, "but usually towards the strong, silent type." He let his gaze travel down, then back up Jim's body. "Strong, silent, buff, hung. You know, all the good stuff." He grinned widely up into Jim's gaze, letting his head rest against Jim's hand.

Jim licked his lips, then glanced around the parking lot. He let his gaze roam up to the truck's cab, then back to the intense blue eyes watching him. He asked, "You got a more private place we can take this," not at all surprised at Blair's indication of the truck beside them.

Jim was not at all taken aback by Blair's brazen attitude. It just showed that their minds were on the same track. Blair's mind, on the other hand, was working double time. One half was intent on the flirtation/seduction he and Jim were carrying on, while the other half was trying to figure out what the hell was happening. Not twenty minutes ago they parted as strangers in a parking lot; now they were trying not to tear each other's clothes off in an interstate rest stop.

Blair was not a stranger to casual sex, even at the age of eighteen. When his hormones had kicked in at twelve, he'd had talks with Naomi about what it meant, what safe sex was, and the difference between love and lust. What he was feeling now was definitely more than lust, but he'd never had sex with someone so much obviously older than he was. Sure, he was an interstate trucker and had encountered enough bad asses to know how to protect himself, but a guy didn't usually carry a tire iron into the bedroom.

Sensing Blair's unease, Jim backed off just a bit, but left his hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Problem?" He inquired softly, his face showing his concern.

Blair bit nervously at his lower lip. "Um, kinda, but not really," he hedged, his body screaming _No! No!_ and his mind whispering _Yes, yes._

Jim brushed the back of his fingers across Blair's cheek. "Chief, I'm not gonna hurt you, if that's what you're worried about."

Blair shook his head slightly, leaning into Jim's touch. "This is all so sudden," he said softly, voicing his concern. "I mean, thirty minutes ago we didn't even know each other and now . . ."

Jim picked up on the thought left hanging. "And now we're about to go flat-dancing."

"Exactly," Blair's gaze was steady into his own. "And I've got the feeling that this is more than a quickie by the interstate," he blurted out before he could stop himself. Before Jim could respond, however, Blair began talking himself out of an uncomfortable situation. "But, hey man, I can understand where you're coming from. I mean, a good-looking soldier like you is probably used to having women and men throw themselves at you, given the chance, and I mean, given the chance I probably would too, throw myself at you that is, but that's not really where I'm coming from here." Blair forced himself away from Jim's touch and began pacing in front of him, arms gesturing wildly. "I mean, what are the chances that I'd pull into the same rest stop that you're broke down in; and that I'm stuck here, but if I weren't I could give you and your car a ride into Portland, and that not only do I find you incredibly attractive and desirable, but I'm getting the idea that you think of me that way, and we're about to go farther faster than I ever have and I don't think I want this to end when your leave ends, but, what the hell, I'll take what I can get here, because I'd rather have a one night stand with you than never to have turned off into this rest stop at all."

Jim listened to what Blair was saying, mostly, but mostly what he was doing was watching the young man pace back and forth, arms moving, hair floating after him, the sound of his voice soothing what was left of his upset over breaking up with Carolyn. He raised one hand and caught Blair by an arm as he passed by him, stopping the tirade. Dark eyes met light ones as Jim hooked his free hand over his shoulder towards the truck cab and said, "Inside. Now."

~o0o0o~

Jim ghosted one hand down Blair's side, stroking slowly from shoulder to hip and back up again, amazed at the transformation of this young man from babbling maniac to a quietly trembling mass in the space of five minutes; the time it had taken them to enter the cab, then the sleeper section, shed their clothes and settle on the bed.

He leaned down and gently kissed the barely open mouth. Raising up, he said, "Blair?" The single word asking 'Is this all right?' 'Do you want to stop?' 'Do you not want this?'

Blair took a deep breath, both to still his trembling and to control himself. In answer he said, "If I move, I'm gonna come."

A tiny smile stretched Jim's mouth. "Then do, come for me," he said as he moved one hand to cover the younger man's erection.

Blair bucked once at the feel, gasped, then rubbed up into Jim's hand, covering his belly and Jim's palm with hot, sticky fluid.

Jim said nothing, watching the painful ecstasy play across Blair's face. He smiled wider as Blair relaxed back into the bed. "Better?" he asked, raising his hand to his mouth to lick the sticky remains of Blair's orgasm off his fingers. Blair's eyes widened at Jim's act, his cock re-hardening instantly. "Ah, the joys of youth," Jim laughed, seeing the organ's state.

"Like you're so old," Blair scoffed, pulling Jim's hand to his mouth to finish the cleaning job Jim'd started.

Jim pulled his hand away to ravage Blair's mouth, his tongue driving deep, claiming this young man as his own. Blair arched up into Jim as he rolled over to cover the younger man, their cocks sliding against each other.

Jim pulled back to break the kiss, whispering, "I want you."

Blair's whispered, "I need you," drove the older man back onto his mouth.

Writhing together for long minutes, Jim raised up once again to say, "You got anything for lube?"

Blair nodded, one hand reaching blindly towards a drawer near his head. Jim got the idea and pulled the drawer open, fumbling and finding a small bottle of Wet. Pulling back, he flipped the spout open and generously drizzled the thick fluid over their still joined groins. He dropped the re-closed bottle next to Blair.

Blair groaned, "No," and tried to pull his legs free of Jim's. "Want you inside, **need** you inside," he moaned.

"Easy, Chief, easy," Jim said. "We'll get there. But not in this position, not in this bed. I want you to roll over."

"No," Blair insisted, finally freeing his legs and pulling them up to his chest. "Face to face, on this bed, this way."

Jim couldn't help but chuckle at Blair's determined squirming and tone of voice. "Done this before, have you, Chief?" He asked as he settled himself on his knees between Blair's upraised thighs.

His amused question stopped Blair cold. He worriedly began chattering, "Um, yeah, is that a problem? I mean, I realize that you're probably more experienced than I am because you're older than me, and that it's not really the norm for a teenager to have had much sexual experience, I mean, not that I've had a lot, but I've done this before and on this bed, by the way, but it's only like the second time and even though it doesn't look like it, there's plenty of room and the bed's really sturdy and you probably want to forget this whole thing," his voice trailed off at the bemused look on Jim's face.

Jim bent down over Blair, pushing his legs to the sides, braced one hand on either side of his head and kissed the babbling man soundly. "Chief, it'd take the entire U.S. Army to drag me outta here right now." His solid cock was brushing against Blair's slightly wilted one, encouraging it, the two still very slippery. "And even then, I'd put up one helluva fight." He slid one hand down between them and stroked Blair's re-awakening cock, then slid the slickened digits down further, to tease the tight pucker below Blair's balls.

Blair arched up into Jim's touch, indicating his willingness to let this joining continue.

About to make another teasing comment, Jim's brain kicked in and stilled his tongue. Every time he'd teased the younger man, Blair had faltered, losing confidence in himself. It appeared that his bravado and self-assurance didn't run all that deep. Instead he said, "You're gorgeous, you know?" continuing to work the tip of his finger deeper and deeper into Blair's orifice, enjoying the grasping spasming motion of the muscles. He swore he could almost feel the blush that suffused Blair's face as he nipped and kissed his way around it. He loved the feel of the soft skin around the eyes, it contrasted so vastly compared to the rough texture along the edge of the smaller man's jaw. He pushed the first knuckle of his index finger past the protective muscle he'd been toying with, paused for Blair's reaction, then slid the finger the rest of the way in, with Blair's obvious approval.

"Oh, yeah, man, oh, yeah," Blair panted, rocking his pelvis down onto the finger toying with him. As Jim pulled the digit out, then pushed back in again, he asked, "More?"

Jim smiled, kissed him again, and added a second slick finger to the first. "Like this?"

"Um, yeah, like that," Blair purred, then gasped as Jim rolled a fingertip up inside him and stroked his prostate. "Oh, man," he exclaimed. "Do that again and I'm gonna come."

"Again?" Jim asked innocently.

"Again," Blair confirmed, one hand snaking down off Jim's chest to his own cock, which he began stroking slowly, in time with Jim's own inner petting.

"Hey," Jim said mock-offended. "Did I say you could play with that?"

Blair cocked an eyebrow up at his lover saying, "And what are you gonna do about it?" not stopping the stroking.

"How about this?" Jim retorted as he moved down Blair's writhing body, pulled Blair's hand off his cock, then sucked the organ into his mouth at the same time he massaged the man's prostate.

"AUGH!" Blair shouted as he came - again - hard and hot into Jim's waiting mouth. He strove not to jam his cock down Jim's throat, but Jim rode out the bucking, swallowing and sucking as he followed Blair's motions.

"Oh man, oh man, oh man," Blair chanted as Jim tenderly licked and sucked the last of his semen off him. He managed to raise his head to look down at Jim, who was still cleaning him off. Chuckling weakly he said, "Hate to give it up?"

Jim gave him one last lick and with an evil gleam in his eye, looked up and replied, "It's my favorite all day sucker."

Blair laughed at that then said, his eyes firmly on Jim's proud erection, "Well, I could spend all day making crass remarks and puns about 'Good and Plenty' and 'Blow-Pops', but I've got a much better idea."

Jim, now sitting back on his heels, lightly stroking his cock with one hand, the other hand still having two fingers buried in Blair's ass, said, "And what's that?"

Jim would have sworn that Blair's voice dropped an octave when he quietly said, "Fuck me."

Jim grabbed his cock just below the glans and squeezed hard to keep himself from coming just from the dark, sexual tone of the younger man's voice. He released himself, and in one quick motion, grabbed the lube, flipped it open again, drizzled some on his fingers and Blair's asshole, and then some on his cock. His eyes holding Blair's he gently pulled his fingers free to spread the lube on his cock.

"Now Jim, fuck me now," Blair softly said, using his hands to pull his legs up farther and wider apart.

Closing and dropping the lube again, Jim leaned forward to press his blunt cockhead against Blair's lubed opening, one hand guiding his erection, his other hand next to Blair's head, supporting himself. He pressed forward, concentrating, with Blair's chanted "ohyeahohyeahohyeah," filling his ears.

Blair's hissed intake of air as Jim breached the inner muscle made him pause and ask, "You okay?"

"Yeah, man," Blair gritted out. " 's just been awhile. Gimme a sec."

Jim now braced both hands on Blair's pillow and lowered himself to take the open, panting mouth. As he deeply kissed the man, he could feel the tightness ease and he slid in a bit further. He knew this feeling and he loved it. It was something he could never get from sex with a woman; something he certainly never got from sex with Carolyn - a connection to another man. _This takes male bonding one whole step further,_ his mind supplied him, as he slid yet another inch into Blair's hot, pulsing body.

Drawing back he asked, "How we doin', Chief?"

Dark eyes lifted to meet his. "We don't know about you, man," Blair panted, "but I'm doin' just fine." To punctuate that statement, he lifted his head and latched onto Jim's mouth, drawing the man's head back down with his. He controlled this kiss, ravaging the man's mouth with his own, claiming possession in his own right.

His mouth under attack, Jim could only retaliate in one way; he drew his cock back out of its tight home, then pushed back in again, until his balls were resting on Blair's upturned ass. Out and back in again he slowly stroked, Blair's body undulating to match him in rhythm and in strength.

Blair released his legs and let them rest on Jim's shoulders, then reached down and began stroking his rising cock with both hands.

Jim broke the kiss, looked down between them and watched the younger man's cock fill and lengthen. "Third time's a charm, eh, Chief," he panted, letting the feel of his impending orgasm wash over him.

"Uhhhh," was all Blair's sex-logged brain could come up with as a response.

The pair moved as a single unit, giving and receiving pleasure, one to the other, as they rocked together, Jim sliding in and out of Blair's body, his stroke becoming harder and faster. Blair encouraged him with grunted "yes'es" and "harder, fuck, yeah, more", until Jim stilled for just an instant, then began moaning, his hips following a staccato beat that only they heard, as he came, hard, relentlessly. In that same stilled moment Blair came for the third, charmed time, one hand clenched on Jim's bicep, one hand pumping his cock, his head thrown back, howling his pleasure for the world to hear.

The silence filling the truck was broken only by harsh, deep breaths drawn into overworked lungs. Eventually Jim moved just enough to allow Blair's legs to fall from his shoulders, then levered himself back up into a kneeling position, his semi-hard organ sliding out of Blair's ass, followed by a thin stream of ejaculate.

Blair's soft hiss brought his eyes up to the younger man's. "Sore?"

"Umm," Blair answered in agreement. "Will be. Little tender now." At Jim's tense silence he continued, "but it was well worth it. You?"

Jim reached out a hand to snag the towel hanging on a hook by Blair's head. He murmured, "I'm fine," as he wiped himself off perfunctorily, then began cleaning the sodden messes that were Blair's belly and ass. He stopped in mid-wipe, looking up at Blair, who'd been lying there, motionless, watching him. "No, I'm not fine," he state matter-of-factly.

Blair looked up at him warily. _Ah, fuck,_ he though, tensing. _Here it comes. Here's where he beats the shit outta me and leaves me here to die. God damn it! I just knew this was too good to be true!_ His thoughts were broken by a hand gently tapping his cheek.

"Chief, Blair? You with me?" Jim's gentle voice got his attention.

"Yeah, man, what?" Blair said, sadly. He didn't really want to pay attention if he was going to be hit.

"I said I was much better than fine. In fact, I've never felt this good."

Blair, relieved, waggled his eyebrows at Jim.

At Blair's expression, Jim laughed, "Stop fishing for compliments, Chief. That's not what I mean. Well, it's part of what I mean." He sighed. "Shit. I'm no good with words. What I mean is, I feel different. Like I've made some life-shattering decision . . ."

"When all you did was fuck my brains out," Blair concluded with a wistful smile.

"Yeah," Jim agreed. "No, I mean yeah, but we didn't just fuck, Blair. I felt like there was some sort of connection between us."

"Like this was meant to be?" Blair asked quietly, one of his hand twined with one of Jim's. "Me too, Jim. Me too."

They remained that way, motionless, silent, hands locked together, eyes meeting, but each man alone with his thoughts. Jim was the first to speak, stating the obvious. "What now, Chief?"

Blair's mind, which had been working overtime, stilled suddenly. What now, indeed? "Well, you've got your Army to go back to," he said tentatively.

"Not for two more weeks," Jim rejected.

"And you've still got to get your car fixed," Blair offered.

"Yeah," Jim agreed slowly. "You still gonna give me a ride into Portland?"

Blair nodded, "Not a problem, man."

Jim returned the nod. "Then the way I see it . . ." he broke off and started again. "Can you have riders in this thing?" He asked, indicating the truck cab.

"Yeah, sure," Blair said, confused. "I just need to notify my uncle for insurance purposes. Why?"

"Well, I've got two weeks coming with nothing to do and no ride to do it with. So I was wondering if you might like some company."

Blair's eyes lit up at Jim's suggestion. "Oh yeah, man! That'd be great!" Blair sat up, his hands waving. "After I drop this load in Oakland, I'm scheduled to head down to Venice Beach to pick up a load of, get this," he nudged Jim with one hand, "surf boards to take back up to Seattle. Can you imagine anyone surfing in that water? I mean, brrrrr!"

Jim laughed, then said, "Well, Chief, I was born and raised in Cascade and it's north of Seattle, and I surf."

"You do? Oh, man, talk about embarrassment central! But, hey, I'm sure I can wrangle a couple days off if you wanna enjoy some sun with your surf."

Jim raised an eyebrow. "You think?"

Blair leered at him. "Hey, for a chance to see your bod in a pair of Speedo's I'd sacrifice my own mom."

Jim leered back. "Well for a chance to see your bod stretched out on the warm sand with me buried in you, I'd sacrifice your mom, too."

Blair shivered at the promise in Jim's low, sultry tone. "Oh, yeah," he whispered, then leaned forward to kiss Jim softly.

Pulling back, Jim whispered, "You and me, Chief?"

Blair nodded, confirming. "You and me, Ellison. You and me."

~fin~

 


End file.
